


Fragility

by caprigender



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: F/M, Self-Esteem Issues, Sexual Content, alright im officially outing myself as a ghoul fucker i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-05
Updated: 2016-03-05
Packaged: 2018-05-24 23:33:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6171154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caprigender/pseuds/caprigender
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sole isn't exactly confident in her own desirability, which tends to happen when you grow up in a society that constantly reminds you that you are not and never will be good enough. Being called perfect isn't something that she's used to.</p>
<p>I didn't plan on sharing this but it made my friend cry so here it is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fragility

Whatever this was, it was a conflict of interests. Probably. At the very least it was unethical. Dishonest. More than a little bit selfish and manipulative.

But how long had it been since someone had called her perfect?

She could count the times someone had used that word to describe her on one hand, and he was responsible for at least half of them. She’d never been soft enough, or dainty enough, or good enough before the war. Like most women she’d tuned out as much of the brainwashing as she could and accepted she would never be able to please the world. She just had to worry about pleasing the people she cared about and she worked her hardest to do right by them. But the standards were insidious and even two hundred years later she found herself gazing sadly at her pockmarked thighs, smoothing down her unmanageable frizzy hair, and pointedly avoiding thinking about the rapidly growing stubble across her legs, stomach and lower back. 

The standards of the wasteland weren’t treating her too well either. Her hands were unmanicured and her palms growing rough with callouses, but they still shook as she gripped gun stocks and grenades. Her hair got in her face, but she couldn’t bring herself to shave it off, start fresh. She hadn’t lived up to expectations before the bombs and now, two hundred and some odd years later she was still struggling, barely making by. But he thought she was perfect and the thought of being perfect to someone was irresistible.

The texture of his skin (and lack of skin, in some places) had taken some getting used to. She was proud to say that she hadn’t shivered in disgust the first time she felt the leathery palms of his hands running across her exposed chest. That would have been unbelievably rude. She had focused on his words, the gravely rasping that told her she was worthy of every good thing this wasted, miserable world had to offer. She had closed her eyes and let his praise wash over her like a river as she gently pushed her jumpsuit down around her shoulders. His hands had moved up to brush her hair back and as he cupped her face in his hands her eyes had opened again. The look on his face was so open and awestruck that even without a nose it made her heart flutter. He took in every inch of her exhausted and flawed body and still had the nerve to call her the most beautiful person he’d ever seen. 

Everything after that had happened so quickly. Meeting after meeting, she would see him staring at her with that blatant admiration and what had started as a friendly chat would become a deeply passionate make out session, which would become a quick and dirty fuck in whatever falling apart building offered the most privacy. With his body beneath her, exposed sinew pressed up against her skin, the ripples and lines on her stomach and breasts didn’t feel so suffocating. The rush of confidence he gave her was intoxicating and she knew she couldn’t trust it. Everything felt too amazing for this to be ok.

“You know, you don’t have to do this,” she said, spread out on her back with his head between her thighs. Her timing was truly impeccable. Really, it was always a good idea to voice your relationship misgivings while getting fantastic oral, nothing inconvenient about it. He chuckled in response, the vibrations of his voice travelling up to buzz against her lips as his tongue continued to work patiently at her clit. “I mean,” her voice almost gave out as he flicked the tip of his tongue across the head of her clit. She arched her back and gripped the makeshift mattress with white knuckles. “I mean, I’m not going to fire you or drive you out of Sanctuary if you say no or turn me down or…”

He’d stopped and that was enough to get her to stop talking. She wanted to hook her legs around his neck and pull his face back down against her. She wanted to grind against him and not worry about any of the weird faces and noises she was making. She finally glanced down to gauge his reaction and he was looking at her, inky black eyes peering above the dark fluff of her pubic hair. He pulled back and leaned up on his elbows and she could see his face was twisted into a confused smile. “You think I’m doing this for some kind of job security, dollface?” His raspy voice sent shivers down her spine. She shrugged and looked away. Yes, now that he’d said it that was exactly what she thought. “Nah, nah, not at all, toots.” He lowered his head again, laying gentle kisses in her fuzz, moving down towards her lips. “Mmm, I do this cause I’m selfish,” kiss, “and greedy” kiss, “and you haven’t had the good sense to stop stooping to my level down here.” Her heart fluttered and stung at the compliment. Maybe she could ask him not to put himself down while holding her up. She wanted to. Her lips couldn’t seem to find the words. “It’s not every day you get to touch living, breathing artwork. I’m just trying to make the most of it.”

She gulped down the lump in her throat and if her face hadn’t been flushed before it certainly would have been at that comment. “You should come up here and tell me that again.” He grinned and wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his shit (the shirt never came off, just got partially unbuttoned, she had never wanted to push that point, in case it was a sensitive issue.) His lips were entirely destroyed by radiation but the nips and bites her peppered on her neck and collarbone were enough to curl her toes and arch her back. His clothes were rough, the old material digging into her flesh, biting and pinching, sometimes rubbing her raw. But he was only ever gentle with her, sweet and tender, like she was precious and fragile. It made her want to laugh, nothing fragile could have lasted as long as she had out in the commonwealth.

She wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled his body flush against hers. It was easy. He was frail and wiry and her legs were only getting stronger by the day. There was something to say for walking and running everywhere carrying heavy supplies on your back.

He shivered and groaned. God, that went straight to her ego every time. His hands clutched at her hips, the fat there squishing between his fingers and maybe she still wasn’t comfortable with that but it wasn’t sending her into a panic. She was still lost in the sensations and the giddy feeling of being someone’s idea of perfection.

His hands moved down to his belt buckle and he looked back up at her to ask, “Can I?” She nodded, scrambling to find the lube while he undid his pants and pushed them down around his hips. The skin she could see looked like it was covered in burn scars. She’d once asked him if it hurt. He’d shrugged, a non-response that she knew better than to question. It wasn’t any of her business, clearly. In any case, the texture was unlike anything she’d ever felt before. Each ridge and dip stretched her out and she thanked her lucky stars there were plenty of folks in the wasteland who had the good sense and expertise to be making lubrication.

He pushed into her slowly, gently. He took his time. He always took his time, studying her reactions, staring at the way her body moved as she took him in. He treated each time as if it might be his last, savoring every inch of her, and that was probably why she kept coming back, why she knew she would always come back. As long as she felt like something precious and needed, rare, valuable. She knew she couldn’t resist that.

Maybe it would have been better if she could resist. She felt like she was supposed to resist this. But maybe that thinking was just the relics of a 200 year gone civilization trying to control her from beyond its nuclear grave. Maybe she could allow herself this one good thing in her life, and maybe if she could have one good thing she would eventually allow herself to have more.


End file.
